


Ashes

by Tonko



Series: Strange Bedfellows [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonko/pseuds/Tonko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/228978">Strange Bedfellows</a>. Ace is caught, Krieg returns and Sanji's home burns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost from LJ. It was written before the Impel Down arc, so Ace's characterization wasn't informed by that at all.
> 
> Thanks to the awesome [printfogey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/printfogey/profile) for the beta :D any remaining errors are all mine.

Ace hunted Blackbeard across deserts, moors, two inland seas and into the deep forest, and then he found him, and then he fought him, and then he lost.

Sent by the great dragon Whitebeard to avenge the murder of one in his company, Ace was a ranked officer in that crew, sent to duly punish the betrayer.

And he'd failed.

Blackbeard's darkness overwhelmed him, began to tear him apart, and Ace felt, all the way through to the spark that gave him life, that he was going to die.

He felt the mark on his soul binding him to Whitebeard slide off, confirmation of that finality, and he felt his grip on life close around nothing.

But awareness lingered, in the endless dark, and he might have thought he really was dead, but for the malevolent amusement he could feel, Blackbeard's triumph in the dark around him.

He had no concept of how long, but finally the dark receded, giving way instead to agony, the oppressive, freezing touch of cold iron utterly surrounding his body, and Blackbeard's laughter in the ash-filled air of the now-burned ghost town where they'd fought.

Ace was imprisoned in an iron box. Immobilized, cut off from his powers, helpless.

The prison was opened after a time, but all his rage at his captor was impotent against the numb paralysis the iron caused.

The rage had turned to sick horror when Blackbeard tied a collar neatly around his neck. It was of simple white threads, but braided in the worst possible way and with every fiber imbued with the klamath pollen. The magic in the weave would keep it whole through fire and water and any attempt by its captive to tear it off. The pollen, the enchantment… This was the collar every captive faerie wore, along with a shackle of iron. Every unfortunate imp stupid enough to be captured, every hobgoblin enslaved, every sylph locked in glass box to be ogled at by idiot humans…

Ace could not change forms, with that collar on. Even were he somehow freed from the box, he wouldn't be able to turn back to real flame, change size or solidity, he was frozen, like ice, and it was so completely against his nature that he wondered, for a time, if it was possible to die of pure emotional anguish.

It wasn't.

Ace lived, barely. He was numb, locked solid and drifting in and out of tortured, minimal awareness of his failure.

He woke, almost fully, when he was removed from the box, and couldn't understand where he was. No Blackbeard, but thuggish, cruel-looking soldiers in a sniggering circle as Ace was lifted, pinched in iron tongs. The diffuse light of an overcast day landed damply on his skin, the chill of the air filtering slowly past the deeper cold the iron had frozen into him.

He was pushed against a flat, smooth stone, and when he moved, his feeble, instinctive struggles caused loud, raucous laughter.

A louder laugh made him turn his head, drag his gaze up and up, over golden armour to see a wide, savage grin under predatory eyes. “You're a sorry-looking piece of shit, aren't you?” the man asked. “But you might be useful, hm? Soon enough at least. The Blackbeard said you were one of Whitebeard's. Well, you're Krieg's now.”

At first, Ace didn't understand what was happening to him. The lingering numbness from the box and the spreading chill of the tongs pinning him masked what was settling with slowly-increasing agony into his back.

Where his master's mark had once been set, a freezing shape was burned, pressing into his being like icy weights. They were pressing it onto this physical form, but like Whitebeard's sigil, this would persist in any form, emblazoned for anyone to see.

Krieg's booming laugh as he struggled, mostly mindless, filled his head. “That'll do, now, won't it?”

And the pressure resolved fully into a convoluted, twisting sigil, the pain sharpened until he writhed, then abruptly faded as the cold weight locked into his very center. Cold he knew instantly he could never banish, even if he got free. He'd been branded with an iron-rune.

The marriage of wrought metal and arcane rune magic had produced the very best manner of enslaving those with enough faerie blood. Iron-runes, symbols that could be branded into a faerie's being, were used to set simple but inviolable rules on the branded being's existence. They could not compel, but they could prohibit, limit, blind, cripple... This one was a stark, clear prohibition, he realized instantly as his fury leaked slowly away. Ace would now never be able to attack Krieg. Even the idea was suddenly hard to grasp and hold, sinking cool and quick away into the depths of his mind. Acting on it would be impossible.

And none of that mattered anyway, because they never lifted the iron tongs away from him, and he was soon back in his tiny prison.

Ace would not abandon hope, it was against his nature.

But he wondered, when awareness crept into his sluggish mind now and then, if it hadn't abandoned him.

Days stretched, weeks, blurring into endless, blind darkness punctuated by episodes of torture, rare feedings of green, dying wood. Never the sun, not even the moon, just the dark and the damp and the cold.

Consciousness returned again as he flew on a tether through chilly night air, nearly insensate. The all-encompassing numbness of the box ebbed, and a burning chill of twisted wire around his middle came to the fore instead. He fell, landing on wood. Hewn wood, not pine, but old oak. The collar trapped his form and the wire burned like ice against him and was maintaining the effects of the box.... but the feel of that old, dry wood sent hunger surging through him, the energy of desperation, and the wire was not the box, and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, he felt heat inside him.

He flashed outward with voracious hunger, reaching flames blindly over the wood all around, over a floor, up walls. There was sustenance, all around him, he just had to burn it, and there would be white-hot coals for him to wallow in, heat and comfort and flame...

He was weak, now, though, so weak, and he spread himself thin in his desperate hunger, which was the only reason the bellowing and screaming filtered into his awareness, and the logic of where he had to be, what his captors had used him for, suddenly lined up in his mind.

Floor.

Walls...

Building.

_People._

He drew himself back together as his mind revolted at his actions, pulling his flames from the path of fleeing people, struggling to resist the energy he could get from the old wood around him while he still had time to snuff the fires he'd begun. His initial surge of resistance to the iron's effects was fading already.

The flames ignored his pull for a time, sliding through his mind's grasp like something now-unfamiliar, and, terrified, he stretched farther, until it hurt, and finally pulled the last of the fire back into himself. He raised his head, staring around him, seeing long scorch marks over that old wood, the floor of a large room furnished with tables and benches and milling with panicked people trying to stay away from him and get out as fast as possible.

He found himself looking up, up, at a tall, skinny, near-grown human with blue eyes, watched the kid's eyes take in his tiny, shackled form with distracted confusion.

“What—are you—?”

“Krieg...” Ace said weakly. “I... can't...”

An order was barked from the other end of the room. “Move your ass! Get them out!” And the boy was off, running to help a family find their way out of this place while people stumbled down stairs from an upper floor to gather in a growing, panicked crowd in this large room.

Large room, long wide tables, bar... This was an inn. He'd been used to try and destroy a place where people found temporary shelter...

But no, he'd stopped it. He'd managed some control, at least, and if he hadn't been so weak, it would have been vastly worse.

He might be trapped, bound and branded... But he would not be a tool to this Krieg.

He felt a brief flash of grim triumph. This was the smallest of victories.

Then a torch, one end oozing with burning pitch, landed on the floor next to him, with a dull thud. The muffled thump of landing, almost unheard under the rapidly rising din of frightened people, belied the abrupt sinking feeling in Ace's center.

New flames spread, following the paths he'd begun. Another torch sailed in, end over end, landing farther inside and rolling under a table. Then came another and another, and smoke, dark and choking, rose from the stinking, pitch-fueled flames. Fire as hungry as Ace, but without any will behind its drive to consume.

Unthinking, Ace lunged weakly for one of the torches. To do what, he didn't know, but he didn't get the chance to think about it beyond the initial desperate scramble, before he was dragged back. He cursed, fought the pull to absolutely no effect, clutching uselessly at the planks of the floor as he was reeled in. Another torch sailed over his head, hitting a wall and leaving spatters of flaming pitch all around its point of impact.

Two voices rose above the din, an old human and a younger one, cursing loudly at each other as they directed others out of the building.

“Get away from here, you damned sprout, before they come in here themselves!”

“Shut up, old man, this shitty place is going to fall on your head if you don't leave. Move!”

Ace had caught a glimpse of flame-lit yellow hair and a long, skinny body. Bared teeth in a furious and frustrated face. And _fangs_ , Ace focused on that tiny detail, tenacious on it for the lack of anything else he could do. So the kid was half vamp, yet standing here so protective of a human. He lived among them.

 _And who else_ , Ace thought, remembering the jeers and easy contempt when the fully-human militiamen had occasionally toyed with him during his captivity, open disdain for other races, and the complete and casual loathing for halfbreeds. _Who else could those men be burning this building to reach?_

Another yank on the tether made Ace lose his grip and he slid, cursing.

Feet pounded on the floor and the kid was dragging an older man behind him. A torch was in their path, dripping pitch having rolled in a swath across the hall, fire spreading to the wall, rising knee-high to them. Ace heaved himself into a roll as he was dragged, and reached the fire first, heaved against his chain and _yanked_ at the flames around him. Touched by iron as he was, he felt no heat any longer, but something was left in him to call to the flames, because they flickered, guttered, and finally died.

And that was it, the last of his tiny rebellion. Chilly paralysis, just like when he was in the box, finally slid completely over and he went limp in the cooling ooze of pitch. There was nothing left in him even to struggle, anymore. The iron had locked him down at last. 

The kid looked at him as he dragged the man over the cooling pitch, and then out the front door.

Then Ace’s chain went slack, and he heard the familiar sound of the armsmen’s boss sergeant voice barking the order to attack. The sound of bowstrings came next.

A shout of pain from the old man, a bellow of rage from the kid, and then, as Ace lay, another order.

“Kill the vampire!”

Ace heard a roar. Flames, air, the shouts of townspeople, Ace couldn’t tell, could barely pay attention. His leash remained slack, his captors rightly unconcerned about Ace's safety in the fire.

But anyone else... 

Then the kid came back inside, a skinny, stumbling shape. Ace fixed his gaze blearily on him, taking in a dirty, smouldering suit, huge blue eyes. The kid was returning to a building that would rapidly become a death trap for him, because whatever was outside was worse. 

Arrows followed the kid, more burning torches, and that skinny shape dodged with some impressive reflexes, avoiding everything but the heat Ace knew was coming from the raging fire, even if he himself could feel nothing of it. Forced farther in, the kid was moving half-bent, staying under most of the thickening smoke.

He looked down at Ace, as he passed. He halted abruptly, setting one foot on the tether, then he reached with an arm to pull, and it snapped, easy as that. Just a thin chain, though no normal human could've snapped it like that. 

Ace did not begrudge this kid his vampire half at all.

Only barely aware now, Ace felt himself lifted, numb to anything more detailed than the pressure of the kid's grip. And he didn't see the torch come arcing in, noticed nothing until it struck the kid full in the face. It hit his forehead first, made the kid grunt and stagger back. The pitch clung, when the torch itself slide down and fell away, stuck to the left side of his face, setting hair on fire and burning skin where it touched.

The kid stumbled back with a scream that ripped through the rushing and crackling of the fire, grip on Ace tightening abruptly enough for Ace to register the crush of a more-than-human grip. The kid raised his other arm to swipe at his face, shuddering himself through another ragged noise of agonized horror, voice thick and terrified in his throat.

Then he ducked again, and ran, body heaving with huge, pained gasps. Farther inside they went, the kid plunging straight through the inferno of the large room Ace had started to burn and Krieg had set fully alight, then through a door at the back. In among the scent of burning wood and dry coarseness of ash in the air, he could smell the blistering of the kid's skin. There was a brief waft of cooler air. Another exit somewhere ahead, a back door.

Ace was shoved inside the suit coat the kid wore, and Ace felt him stop, _stop_ , in this furnace, turn and stagger backwards towards the way out, like he was actually reluctant to flee.

“Zeff, I...” the kid choked, and then came a crash and whoosh of cold air as they came out the back of the inn.

“Check the rear! Find the vampire!” armsmen were calling out to each other.

“Sanji!” came a voice from some distance away, utterly terrified but relieved. Then came a frantic, “this way!”

“Back there!” An alert from one soldier to another.

“No!” the kid breathed, and turned in the other direction.

The ride inside Sanji’s coat was dark, bumpy, as he scrambled over obstacles, fell repeatedly, avoided low cries offering help, and then his headlong, wild pace turned uneven and Ace knew they’d left the well-trod paths of the town, had entered the deep, wild wood that blanketed so much of the East Green.

Sanji didn’t stop. He ran, and fell, and ran, until finally he stumbled, sprawled and didn’t rise again, only rolled over onto his back, chest heaving, body shuddering, and Ace could feel the pain in each breath even through his own immobile numbness.

Sanji pawed weakly at his coat, and Ace had a vague sensation of cold, wet wind over him as the cloth fell away around him.

Two hands on Ace’s small body, and this time Ace could feel the heat in them, too much for a human, even a half-vampire. The skin was burned.

Sanji felt clumsily over him, too-hot fingers over Ace's too-cold body, down to that terrible iron shackle around his waist, and though his fingers shook, Ace felt them clutch at the thick wire twisted around his waist, slip, clutch again, now with hot blood from a cut fingertip sliding over Ace’s leg.

The wire was pried slowly but surely open, and Ace felt the anticipation welling up, almost reluctant, but hope would not be denied, and it pushed at him, until finally the wire fell away, and Ace was rolled free to sprawl over Sanji's ruined shirt.

He was starved, and he could barely move, but he was free.

“Thank… thank you,” he gasped, and the fingers brushed at him in seeming acknowledgment before falling away, and the tension of pain bled away from the kid’s body, the deep gasps of pain slowing and evening out as he lost consciousness.

Ace lay just as still, the icy numbness slowly fading, and he panted as he felt his full awareness of his surroundings return. The overwarm body of the halfbreed under him, the cold, wet night air around them both. The half-moon bright through a gap of clouds in the black sky above the clearing where Sanji had fallen,

The approaching shouts of Krieg's soldiers.

Ace felt panic and fury rise inside him, thick and nauseating. They would be found, here, it was wide open space, and Ace could barely move. Fleeing, as slow as that would be, was out of the question. Trying to burn the soldiers away would risk killing his rescuer, either by giving a bright beacon for the soldiers to follow, or simply finishing the job they'd begun in the inn.

But by all the gods and elements, Ace could not face recapture. He pushed himself up, took a long breath and drew himself up into the air, floating above the sprawled, burned form of the half-vampire kid who'd just taken a horrible injury while freeing him from Krieg.

“Sanji!” hissed a voice from off to the side, and Ace almost burst into flames right then out of surprise, barely catching himself, darting through the air instead, his movement wobbling unsteadily. The iron-weakness was all but gone, but near-starvation was barely an improvement.

At the side of the moonlit clearing he could just make out a cowering shape, long-nosed and bushy-haired. Ace kept moving forward, stopping to hover in the stranger's face, and the shadowy figure flinched back, holding up a bulging pack as if it could protect him from Ace. At this point, it really could.

“Who're you?” Ace snarled, ready to defend his rescuer.

“Me?” the longnose returned, sounding taken aback, and Ace suddenly recognized the voice, the first who had called out to Sanji during his flight from the town. This voice was safe, then, a friend, and relief washed over him like a clear-morninged sunrise.“No! Who are _you_?” the longnose demanded shakily, a pretense of bravado, still hissing a whisper.

And who indeed. He was one who'd set fire to this unconscious half-breed's home, that was who. “Ace,” was all he replied, and then the world seemed to dim around him, the night-dark fading further, and he fell to the ground.

“Whoa there,” the longnose said, abrupt concern in his voice, and Ace struggled to move. Even without the iron, he was too starved to keep afloat.

So there was nothing he could do as the stranger scooped him up and tucked him into the hood of his wide cloak. “We have to get out of here,” the longnose muttered, “they're coming, they're coming,” and Ace could feel the trembling of their would-be rescuer as he took a breath and then moved out into the clearing. “Sanji...” the longnose trailed off as he knelt beside him, “Oh, gods.” Sanji was lifted, hefted awkwardly over the longnose's shoulder, and they headed off, moving quickly and unexpectedly silently.

Ace crawled up to cling to the longnose's collar. “Who... where?” he asked.

“Usopp,” the longnose panted, and, “hiding place. Secret.”

And then Ace's grip failed, he slid back down into Usopp's hood, and knew no more.

*

Sanji was skinny, but he wasn't light, and Usopp strained to keep his steps quiet as he rushed through the forest. His night vision was barely better than a full human's, didn't hold a candle to Sanji's, but he knew this part of the forest better than anyone else in the town, certainly better than these newly-arrived thugs. Fear spurred him on, but he clung to control, keeping alert to the sounds of the searching soldiers.

When a pair of them stumbled almost across his path, completely by luck, he didn't falter, just took two steps back and pressed against a wide old tree, keeping utterly still. The damp smell of the forest seemed to choke him, and he wondered if the violent thump of his heart was as audible to them as it felt to him.

They passed him and moved away, cursing and swatting at the undergrowth, the sputtering glow of their torches dimming as their crashing grew more and more distant, and Usopp let himself breath again.

The only other emotion competing with his urgency and his fear now was anger. Those men... no, they didn't qualify even as people, they were bullies, thugs, they'd stormed the town almost like they were mounting an attack, invading the streets in a loud, coarse mob of cheering violence that shattered the rather quiet, normal day everyone had been having until then. The new Lord Krieg was ushered home with looting and destruction, his retinue plowing through the town to the old fortress and leaving a path of indiscriminant damage in their wake.

The town had been frozen in shock, crowds forming to stare, stunned, at the rough parade of guardsment. It had not taken long for everyone to start retreating, the crowds dispersing as people fled to their homes to avoid the soldiers when they started to grab people, young men and women, dragging them for many steps and blatantly molesting them with no apparent shame. They attacked others, casual, contemptuous fists striking out at random, or so it had seemed at first.

Once the main company had vanished behind the heavy doors of the fortress, scattered groups of soldiers had appeared, wandering the streets, visiting shops and the market stalls to take what they pleased, and then, as these men found individuals attempting to continue about their day, it slowly became obvious the violence had targets.

Most of the human residents, who made up perhaps two-thirds of the townsfolk, were ignored. The rest, the dwarves and kobolds and very few elves that called the town home, were harassed, spat on, jeered at... but the worst of it had fallen upon those of mixed race.

Or, to be exact, any individual the militiamen could catch who was part human and part anything else.

The change in the town's atmosphere was so utterly complete and abrupt that the stunned disbelief had lingered for most of the day, as the town's new militia left every part-human they found with some degree of bodily harm.

Usopp had not escaped. His left eye was swollen half-shut, and bruising made the rest of that side of his face painful to the touch. But he could walk, he could function, and that was far better than some.

Far, far better, because when night had fallen, they'd come out in force again.

The Baratie Inn was destroyed, Usopp had seen the flames rising as he'd fled homeward away from the chasing soldiers after Sanji had run away towards the woods. He'd seen the glow of the fire rising into the night as he'd left, bundle of supplies in hand, to follow where he dearly hoped Sanji had headed.

What he'd found... Usopp knew without a doubt he'd gotten off easy. The emaciated-looking imp, Usopp couldn't figure out, but he wasn't leaving it behind to perhaps be found and killed.

He set out again, the shadowed darkness irrelevant to his knowledge of these woods. The burns on Sanji had been obvious even in the dark, and he had no doubt they would be even worse to see when he finally reached the hiding place.

But Usopp knew hiding, knew fleeing. He'd played pranks for years, ducked pursuit and retribution, fled small mobs of pursuing townsfolk, and, on days that he'd never consider bad again, endured the open contempt of Kaya's _former_ butler.

But the Black Cat bandits had been dealt with a year ago. Kaya was safe, as well as Merry—oh, dear, brave Merry, he was going to receive the same treatment Usopp had from these gods-damned militia men next market run—and thanks to Sanji, all Usopp had come away with was claw-mark scarring across his chest.

And if Usopp had anything to say about today's horrors, Sanji would come out of this. The burns... Usopp would not even imagine that Sanji wouldn't pull through. That vampire blood in him made him strong, fast, he had never so much as been sick, except for the first few days after his thirteenth birthday, when the sun had begun to burn him, and after his sixteenth, when the hunger had started. He would be fine. He _would_.

Usopp froze again as another soldier crashed past, and swallowed his heart back into his chest after it leaped into his throat. This part of the forest outside town was on Kaya's property, and Usopp knew it perfectly, every tree, boulder and hill. Kaya let him use a few spots on her property to experiment with his exploding powders and smellier potion-mixing. And one of his supply caches, a cool, relatively dry cave that let him store powders with only the minimum protection against damp, was only an hour's walk from town.

At a run, it could be far less, but in the dark, with the soldiers out, Usopp would take no chances. He hurried, as best he could, though time seemed to slow to a crawl whenever he needed to go still, or duck, or wait while one of Krieg's men came near.

They, too, seemed to feel the time passing, because enthusiastic bellows of men on the hunt turned to irritated grumbles. The damp night air thickened, and when it turned from wet mist to drizzle and then to rain, it seemed to be the final straw for them. Usopp was flat on his back under a thick bush, Sanji a dead weight on top of him and the imp a clammy, limp bundle tucked under his chin, as a group of them gathered not ten feet away. Water seeped through Usopp's thin cloak into his clothes, and dripped onto his face from the bush above. He held tight to Sanji, and listened.

“Little shit's got to be dead anyway, nuffin' round nowhere,” said a gravelly disgruntled voice, followed by a hawk and a spit.

“Hehehe, all them burns ate him right up, you see him run out the back? Hair on fire and all.” The thick, phlegmy laugh was echoed by the others, and Usopp ground his teeth.

“Vamps go all to dust when they die anyhow. Never find that,” the first one said.

“Half a vamp too?” a third one asked, a high whine. “Krieg en't gonna like us coming back empty-handed.”

“Bah, I'm not spending all night hunting a fuckin' halfbreed in the rain,” the second voice said, decision made. More voices agreed.

“Can't go back empty-handed!” the whiny voice complained again, sounded fearful now. “Krieg'll have our hides!”

“Not wrong,” the first voice agreed. There was a pause of some kind, and then Usopp heard the sound of a fist against flesh, and a thump like a body collapsing. “How 'bout Krieg just has your hide, eh, blondie?”

“He's skinny enough.” The phlegmy laugh sounded again. “But he ain't got no fangs.”

An abrupt, wet sound, the crunch of bone. “Now he ain't got much teeth at all.”

Usopp lay frozen from more than the cold rain, wishing his hearing was not so sharp, as the soldiers stripped their erstwhile comrade and finally, finally left, dragging the body with them. His stomach turned over and it took every fibre of self-control not to move. He waited until he could hear nothing but the rain on the leaves before he kicked himself and Sanji backwards out from under the bush. He swallowed his nausea and got to his feet, peering around for any sign of torchlight, but it seemed they were finally alone. Usopp tucked the imp back into his now-sodden hood with a silent apology, gathered Sanji's skinny body up, and ran.

*

Usopp felt his way by memory down the narrow tunnel into his storage room, turned sideways to keep from hitting Sanji's head on the wall. Panic was making him shake now that there was no danger of discovery, and he fumbled as he set Sanji briefly down. He struck a match, dropped it against his wet cloak, struck another and lit the oil lamp hanging just inside the cave room itself.

The illuminated crates and pots and barrels were arranged just as he had left them, rows organized for easy access to their contents, a sturdy table at the center that he'd built himself with plenty of room for working. Stacks of paper and scattered squares of cloth littered it, and he swept them off and laid Sanji out full-length. Sanji was breathing evenly, his suit filthy with mud and ragged-edged from the effects of the fire. Every inch of skin that Usopp could see was red and blistered, but it was the ruin of his face that made Usopp's stomach clench, cooled pitch congealed over his eye, hair burned to his scalp on that side. Thank the gods that Usopp had supplies here for burn injuries. He'd scorched and scalded himself here and there too often not to. Never so bad as this but—no matter. He had the supplies, he'd take care of his friend.

With a start, he remembered the imp. He reached back and scooped the almost weightless little body from his hood and set it gently down by Sanji. The tiny form looked almost skeletal, pale as death with an iron-rune in stark relief on his back, and a pristine white braid around his neck, klamath-pollen binding, which was the only reason an imp would even be in a humanoid form in this awful state.

He pulled a knife from his belt and sliced through the braid, and then almost screamed when the imp, released from the trap, blurred into a faint red glow with the iron-rune a black knot at its center.

This thing was a fire imp. In a storage room containing explosive powders. Anything with magnesium powder in it was sealed, in wax-corked ceramic pots, but even so. Usopp's eyes bulged and he grabbed at the glow, cupping his hands and scooping it off the table. Barely detectably warm, it guttered and he bit his lip. It was dying, it was dying and Sanji was burned and—Usopp squeezed his eyes shut a moment, took a deep breath, and let it out, squaring his shoulders. He curled one hand around the fading glow and rushed to the side of the cave. The roughly-made hearth area was cold, now, and Usopp didn't dare use it anyway—this imp had to be contained while it fed or it might reach for all the fuel in the room when it woke up.

He dropped the glow into a medium-sized ceramic pot, the one with the big crack at the top that he couldn't cork anymore, and settled it at the very back of the ash-dusted hearth. He grabbed all the kindling he could and dumped it in, tinder on top, lit a match and dropped that on the tinder. It caught immediately, and Usopp grabbed a couple of logs and more carefully positioned those to avoid snuffing the flames that were starting to rise. He set a makeshift lid over it, the broken base of another pot; the crack left enough room for air to feed the fire.

That was all he could do for now, all the worry he could spare. The imp would need coals and heat and fuel, far more than that, but it should at least help... Now, Usopp had to deal with Sanji. He took another steadying breath, grabbed two empty pails, and ran outside to fetch water.

*

Ace woke slowly, bathed in heat, and he thought he must be dreaming, that any moment he would wake to that iron box.

But he didn't. The heat stayed, tasting of bland birch and sweet maple and filling aspen. Not a stick of stinking pine in any of it. He moved to one of the blissfully hot coals, wrapping his entire being around it.

Part of him wouldn't warm, stubbornly, numbly cold, no matter what. As his mind caught up with the rest of him, he remembered the iron-rune. Fury swept through him and he shot upward in instinctive hostility. He hit something, the impact stunning him back to self-control. Shaking himself, he looked up, saw a gap, and moved to it.

He was underground, he could feel the press of earth and stone around him. Dim light revealed rows of stacked containers of various kinds, rough-hewn shelving. He was perched on the cracked edge of a ceramic pot. He pushed off, moving forward through the air. Around a tall stack of crates, the topmost one open to show glass jars of different sizes. They shone dully in various colours in the flickering light of a lamp that Ace turned slowly to see hanging by an arched entry that led to an upward-sloping tunnel.

Beyond the crates was an open area occupied by a wide table. The longnose—no, Usopp, had shed his cloak and was bent over the sprawled-out shape of that half-vampire kid from the burning building. Sanji, right.

Ace shook himself, and, with an effort, flared himself out to full human-sized form, shaping himself into his usual appearance, with his favourite black shorts and boots, orange hat on a string dangling behind. Pointless illusion, that, but the best he could do by himself to cover that disgusting brand. He would not take that tiny shape again any time soon. The feel of the brand on his back chafed, even half-covered, a burr of frustration sticking in his throat, but he shoved it away for now. He was free now, he had fed, a little, and the iron-rune was not something he could change for the foreseeable future.

“Hello,” he said, and Usopp yelped. He startled so hard Ace was surprised he didn't get stuck in the rock ceiling overhead.

Usopp turned and flattened back against the table, gasping for a few breaths before he seemed to pull himself together and glared, grabbing an iron poker from the bench he'd been kneeling on, and brandishing it between them. “Watch it, imp, don't get any ideas, I'm a crack fighter, you know, champion in the South Green arenas and down there they only dare to speak my name in whispers!”

Ace stifled a brief urge to laugh, raising his hands to indicate his peaceful intent. The longnose was part kobold, Ace could see now, with nasty bruising over half his face. He looked sharp-eyed and currently extremely worn out and wary, but staunchly keeping his position between Ace and Sanji. A good kid, Ace thought. A liar, too, but Ace didn't mind that. He nodded, then looked past him to the mostly-naked, bandage-swathed figure on the table. “I'm a friend, sir. You have my word.” He ducked in part of a formal bow, and straightened up to see Usopp looking taken aback. Ace was more interested in Sanji, however, and couldn't stop his gaze fixing past Usopp on the table behind him. “Just... how's he doing?”

Usopp lowered the poker. Ace kept still, offering a friendly, hopeful grin for good measure. He was good at winning people over, and it usually worked better when he was sincere, like now. And work it did. Usopp relaxed. He put the poker down and turned back to Sanji, picking up where he'd left off.

Ace moved around to the other side of the table, taking in the extent of the damage he'd helped precipitate on this young man's body. Perhaps for the best, it was now hard to see most of the burns. Usopp had stripped Sanji of his clothes, but a threadbare blanket covered his torso, and parts of his legs and his hands and head were wrapped in probably more bandaging than strictly necessary. Two buckets of water and a bar of soap were on the bench in Usopp's easy reach.

Short, burnt hair stuck up between bandage strips over Sanji's head, and Ace saw again the impact of that torch in his mind's eye, and shook his head. No bandage would cover that memory. He reached out his hand, brushing his fingertips just barely against the cloth. “Gods, kid.” He sat heavily on the bench.

“He'll be fine,” Usopp said, and Ace looked at him. The rigid tone and stiff cheerfulness of someone repeating what they themselves wanted to believe were obvious. Ace wanted to believe him too. “He's strong,” Usopp insisted, not that Ace needed convincing of that, after seeing the kid run for so long after taking an injury like that.

“Krieg's boys do that to you?” Ace asked waving at the purple swelling on Usopp's face.

Angry fear flashed over Usopp's face. “Yes,” he said, raising one hand to push against the bruising under his eye. “But it doesn't matter, it's nothing. Nothing like this,” he looked down at Sanji. “Or that,” he looked at Ace, and Ace felt the brand's chill on his back again.

Ace ignored it, shrugged that last statement off dismissively. It didn't hurt and his confinement was ended, so none of it mattered now. He grew serious again as he studied what Krieg's men had done to Usopp. “That is not nothing,” he muttered. Ace had lost to Blackbeard with his own overconfidence—his fate had been his own doing. These people had in no way earned this summary destruction of their way of life. “Fuckers.”

“Anyway... Are you alright?” Usopp asked, determinedly moving on, and Ace blinked at the turnabout in concern after having had the poker brandished at him. Though, the kid was understandably jumpy, and had obviously had those good intentions to begin with, since Ace was not dissolving into dust right now out there in the rain. “I cut the threads and then you almost went out,” Usopp added worriedly. “Should you even be doing that?” Usopp looked up and down at Ace's current shape. That size was, indeed, an effort to maintain. Ace didn't care right now. “You were barely in the fire at all, just a few hours, can't be enough.”

“I—well, no, but, I wanted to see him. He got me free of Krieg, I owe him,” Ace said, the concern unexpected, but, Ace discovered, appreciated. “Thank you very much for that, by the way,” he nodded in the direction of the urn.

“Wasn't gonna just leave you” Usopp muttered, leaning down to finish carefully pinning down the last bandage strip around Sanji's ankle. “Only... don't blow up my stuff, that's all.”

Ace looked around them at the crates and various and sundry items on the shelves. Paid attention to the first time to the smells in the air. Good point. “Gotcha.”

“Good. There's a—”

Sanji shifted on the table. Usopp jumped, Ace froze, and a low moan spiraled up into a ragged cry of grief and anguish. Sanji arched on the table and Usopp leaned over him, bracing an arm over his chest and bearing down to hold him still.

“Sanji! Sanji, stop, stop moving, you'll hurt yourself more!” Usopp voice was shaky, but grew more steady as he went on. “You're safe, you'll be fine, it's me, it's Usopp,”

“Zeff..!” Sanji sobbed, gasping and jerking against Usopp's weight. Ace rose to grab at his thighs, pressing them down to keep him from thrashing.

“Zeff's gonna be fine, he'll be fine, they didn't—they didn't keep on him after he came out. Nanny Orla took him to her house, he's fi—oof!” He grunted and stumbled back as Sanji lashed an arm out. Ace was nowhere near full strength, and so a knee to the chin sent him to the ground right afterwards. Sanji struggled up into a sitting position, pawing at his face and staring blindly around him. He wobbled, slumping forward before he fell to one side. He stilled, then, bandaged hands in his lap, his hard breathing laboured with pain.

“Zeff...” Sanji shuddered, voice thick. Ace pushed himself partway up, dizzy, and watched Usopp approach from the other side. He put a hand out to rest on one shaking shoulder. Sanji twitched, looked up, and went still. One white-swathed hand rose to the bruises. “You... they...” Sanji snarled inarticulately and lurched like he was going to stand.

Usopp put his other arm across Sanji's chest, completely unconcerned, now that Sanji was fully awake, despite the strength differential Ace knew had to exist between them. Whatever greater-than-human senses Usopp might have inherited from his kobold ancestor would not match the sheer power of vampire blood. But Usopp showed no fear of Sanji. It wasn't even the courage that Ace had already seen. It was simply implicit trust.

Ace felt a deep, dragging pain at the memory of his... his _former_ comrades.

Sanji subsided, though fury was still radiating from him, almost sharp enough to cut. He seethed silently under his friend's hands for long seconds, while Ace gradually managed to sit up properly.

“Fuckers burned it,” Sanji said, voice brittle as glass. “They burned it. They destroyed... _everything_ ,” he ground out. “To get me.”

Usopp said nothing. Maybe there was nothing to say, Ace thought, since that was the truth.

“You're alive,” Usopp said at last. “And that's all he'll care about.”

Sanji made a sound like a trapped animal, and planted a bandaged palm on Usopp's chest, heedless of whatever pain there was in his hand, and shoved him back, then turned away, staying folded up on the table and sitting there, silently shaking with fury.

Ace could see the shine of tear tracks down the uncovered side of his face.

Without saying a word, Ace pulled his large shape back in again. He would have needed to do that in another few moments anyway. He slid back towards the fire, just above the floor, circling Usopp's ankle once, making him glance down at the brush of friendly heat, before retreating to the bed of coals Usopp had so kindly set up for him, and sinking tiredly into the welcoming, sustaining heat, but wallowing mostly in guilt.

*

Usopp let Sanji be a moment, moving quietly to add another log to the imp's little makeshift furnace, then returning to the table to putter nervously, screwing the lid back on the jar of opiate salve he'd used on Sanji's wounds. As a topical painkiller, it worked well enough, but he had no illusions that it was doing much good on the mess of Sanji's face, or the hurt Usopp could only imagine that had cut much deeper inside. He gathered the bits of unused bandage and the nearly-empty jar of antiseptic—not enough to do anything more for Sanji, he'd need to bring more—and stored everything away again.

He lit another lamp, set it on a shelf with only safely inert items anywhere near it, and looked around for the tightly-wrapped bedroll he had used now and again. It smelled like mothballs and fire-powder, but it was clean, and would have to do. At least he had extra blankets. On another shelf he found the berry preserve jars he brought here for when he needed to snack and work at the same time. He took one, then went for the supplies bundle he'd dropped on the way in.

Bread, cheese, jam... Stupidly inadequate next to all the wonderful things Sanji had fed him since they'd met, but it would have to do, and Usopp would make him eat whatever he would take. He'd need the strength.

“S... Sanji...” he began once he returned to the table, then almost dropped the jam jar when Sanji raised his head. Blood trailed in two dark lines over his chin from where he'd bitten himself, and, as Usopp stared, his mouth opened slightly, stretching in a grimace that squeezed more blood from the bites in his lower lip as he bared his teeth. His fangs were bloodied and he glared back at Usopp, his uncovered eye hooded and wet.

Usopp settled the jar, only fumbling it a little, but the clatter of glass against wood was loud and jarring in the quiet, and Usopp grabbed at it to stop the sound. He let it go and moved slowly around the table's corner towards where Sanji was still staring silently at him, breathing through his mouth, blood starting to drip from his chin onto the blanket covering his lap. Usopp glanced at the buckets, reached for the dry cloth that still hung over the handle of one, and wetted it.

Sanji stayed still as Usopp wiped the blood away, glare fading until he was just staring forward under the touch. His lip seeped for a little while, but Usopp dabbed gently until it stopped. “It's not your fault,” he said. Sanji's eye narrowed dangerously, and Usopp set his jaw and shook his head, feeling his bruises twinge. “You're not even like this,” he said quietly, looking down at the bloody cloth. “And I'm the one who lies, around here,” he went on, “so you stop it.”

Sanji snorted, and the sound was dismissive, but Usopp was glad to hear even that much reaction.

Sanji ate, just a little, but he did eat, slowly and methodically accepting bites from the bread Usopp held for him, crusts cut away to avoid scraping his lip, drinking water from a clean, if chipped, mug. He left his bandaged hands limp in his lap, for which Usopp was relieved. Eventually, he pressed his lips together and turned his face away. The motion made him sway, and Usopp put aside the food in favour of preparing him somewhere to sleep.

A few of the crates end-to-end were long enough, and Usopp felt acutely aware of the scraping sound in the silence as he dragged them and pushed them together. The rustle of cloth was easier to endure, as he layered blankets over the slats of wood, and spread the bedroll on top. Sanji let himself be guided off the table, lay down with a limp thump. He turned on his side away from Usopp, and Usopp rested a hand on his shoulder for a while before pulling the blankets up completely.

He sat on the edge of the makeshift bed awhile, not touching Sanji but unwilling to leave him any more alone. He blinked numbly at the mess on the floor and table, the scraps of bandage and the open jam jar, the cut-up remains of Sanji's burned suit. The imp's temporary sleeping quarters sent up an orange glow from the hearth, warming the air. A strange source of comfort, to be sure, given the night's events. The heat kept Usopp's damp clothes from being too uncomfortable, at least.

He moved to the table when Sanji's breathing evened out and sat, heaving a long sigh. He dropped his head to rest on his forearms, suddenly feeling like he'd just finished a day of hauling crates or digging safety pits for his fireworks tests, which made no sense, he'd spent the day reading and nibbling on some of Sanji's leftover experimental appetizers from yesterday, the ones discarded as Sanji selected those worth serving.

Ah, but where, now, would Sanji serve anything? Nowhere, after tonight. Usopp lifted his head and looked at the suddenly fragile-seeming shape of his friend, fists tightening in belated and useless fury.

How, in the space of a one day, had everything come to this?

*

 

Ace woke again, feeling it was daylight, though when he rose from his bed of now-mostly-ashes, there was no light at all except for the dull glow of the last embers he'd slept in. The lamps had burned out, it seemed. Ace rose, increased his glow to throw light over the room. The longnose was asleep, seated at the table, head on one arm and facedown, his nose bent in what had to be an uncomfortable way, but Ace could easily understand the degree of fatigue pressing over all of them. Usopp could be said to have gotten off easy, but he'd risked himself to rescue them from Krieg's men, and had tended them both afterwards.

Sanji was a huddled outline on a shabby bed of crates and blankets, also asleep, and Ace knew it was probable he would stay that way for some time. He'd chased true vampires before, injured them so they'd gone to ground, burrowed under earth to sleep and heal, forcing him to wait days for them to re-emerge.

He was the one underground now too, he thought, bristling with the sudden urge to rise out of this hole in the earth and lay waste to the men who'd done this.

But not... not... _Krieg_ , he could not... not attack... he could still barely hold the concept, feeling the icy print of the iron-rune spread out inside him with each attempt to fully grasp the idea, and it infuriated him almost as much as the events of the previous night.

Did they think him dead, though? Escaped? Either way they must think him gone, because it was no mystery what any self-respecting member of the Faerie Court would do once escaped from their ilk; flee home, to have the rune removed.

But. Ace was not a member of the Faerie Court, that ancient and dissolute bureaucracy. It had once meant pride and power, or so Ace had been told by Shanks, it had watched over the world—not just faeries—taking the innate kinship with natural forces seriously as a means to protect and nurture. Now they played games, and ruled only for themselves, they stole mortal children and toyed with the affections of adults, tricking them for amusement, sometimes sucking them as dry of life as any vampire could ever manage.

No pride, no meaning. No integrity. And no solidarity.

Life among the dragons was far, far more rewarding, and vastly more exciting. A pity leaving the Court for a dragon's company made one an outlaw.

Whitebeard was so very distant, now, though, and Ace refused to return a failure, and would die before ever showing himself before his leader with this mark on him.

But Krieg would die, eventually, and the rune would fade. Just how long that took... well, Ace would wait, and he would wait with the very person whose life Krieg—and Ace—had burned to literal ashes.

If they could hasten Krieg's end... the thought slid maddeningly away, but Ace held the determination securely in its place.

Ace gauged the air temperature. He was always warm enough, when fed, but it took a little concentration to determine if the other two here would stay comfortable if he went above ground for a moment. It seemed safe, and so he flitted up the tunnel, quick as he could manage, until he shot out into sun and air.

He could've flared out into human-size easy as anything in this lovely bright morning, but he restrained himself, keeping to a glow that would be almost invisible to any mortal eyes, in this bright light, if it weren't for the rune knotted at his center. The morning sun was pale yet, but there was a shaft of it not ten feet from the reassuringly hard-to-spot tunnel entrance, and he moved to it, floating just above the forest floor, bathing in the gentle touch as he settled on a mossy stone.

He rested, mind drifting for a few seconds, feeling the heat from that infinitely distant fire that always made him feel tiny in a purely wonderful and reassuring manner. The sun always rose, that fire always returned. It was an eternal promise of life and light.

Not to a vampire, maybe, but even night-creatures needed the sun, in a way. Their hungers were slaked on things that grew in the light. Distasteful, but it was nature.

He wondered what Sanji's nature was, if his half-bloodedness had erred towards incubus or dream-eater at his maturity. Ace's brief moment of serenity was broken and he came back to the present at that thought. Whatever Sanji was, for him to have been living as he had, some kind of provision had been made for it, and for all Ace's intention to stay with him, that was one thing he could not offer help for. Vampires gained nothing from Faerie blood or faerie energy. Faeries weren't immune to vampiric incapacitation, they could be and were killed by full vampires, but not for consumption. For purely mutually antagonistic reasons.

Taking in a last little measure of the morning sun—it tasted bright, fresh, irrationally so, but Ace was _free_ again—he lifted off and headed back down below. Time later for self-indulgence.

*

Usopp woke with a headache that seemed to reach forward over most of his face, and it wasn't until he tried to move his head and his nose twinged that he remembered where he was, what had happened, and why his face hurt. He looked up, with extreme care, wincing into the dark. Orange light floated in from the entrance, and Usopp blinked at it. It grew, changed, became the human-shaped imp, who turned the key on the lamp to raise more wick, and then flicked it alight.

“Good morning to you,” he greeted, with a bow that Usopp just sort of nodded dumbly at. This was the first true faerie he'd ever met and he hadn't expected one to be so, well, polite.

“Uh,” Usopp cleared his throat and rubbed gingerly at his black eye. “well, somewhere, I guess it is.”

The imp allowed that point with a sigh, then seemed to realize something. “My name is Ace, of the dragon Whitebeard's company,” he introduced himself fully, a mildly sheepish look as he spoke. Really, too polite.

“I'm—oh, you know already,” Usopp shook himself. “Right. Right. Uh, I have to, have to get back, I mean, he's alive and Mister Zeff doesn't even know, oh gods.” Usopp got to his feet with a shove, mind racing suddenly with the plans he'd need, how to get back to town, to check Zeff, and tell Kaya, to get more supplies for Sanji... “Sanji. He's Sanji.”

“I know,” Ace said, sounding placating, which made Usopp twitch with indignation he didn't have time to feel.

Usopp scrambled to the wood pile, throwing logs into the hearth proper this time, Ace wasn't going to explode from hunger now, and that tiny pot was really not enough. He hissed when he grabbed it to dump out the remaining coals. It was still hot. He got kindling aflame again, stood back and stuck his burned fingers in his mouth for a second. “Please, just, don't leave him, I'm gonna be back as soon as I can, I'll need to redo the dressings,” and he'd need more bandages and numbing salve for that, and clothes for Sanji, and much more food—gods how long was he going to be here? But where else was he going to go? Never mind, one thing at a time or he'd panic, and this was not the time to panic.

“I suspect he'll sleep for a long time,” Ace said, and Usopp nodded jerkily.

“Oh yeah, yeah, I forgot, he's never sick, y'know, except when the sun started to hit him, and then when he started needing, uh,” Sanji's dietary needs made sex a reasonably casual subject between the two of them, by now, but it was most certainly not that with everyone else.

“But he'll wake up needing that,” Ace said, turning serious, and Usopp exhaled nervously. “Which 'that' is it?”

“Huh?”

“Lust, or dreams?” Ace clarified. Usopp hadn't known there was another option. It had taken them all far too long to even realize that Sanji hadn't needed blood.

“Um. Lust.” He felt his face warm up at that, which was stupid, to be embarrassed right now. He didn't have time for embarrassment either, even if he was quickly realizing what was going to be happening soon enough. Usopp had been a stopgap for Sanji before, that first time, and a few times since. He'd not hesitate to do it again, but it felt odd to think of it ahead of time like this.

Sanji had friends in town who were aware of his needs, who he could visit discreetly—most people thought all Sanji's heritage gave him was pointy teeth and a weakness to direct sun. Harmless as his appetite was in the objective sense, there was still propriety to be maintained, since Sanji had never showed a sign of wanting to settle and marry.

Maybe those visits could continue, even now, maybe that could go on as before... Usopp didn't know, couldn't guess—how many of them would dare, want to risk it? Millicent, the Baratie's young and fiery bartender—former bartender, Usopp corrected with a stab of despair—she would surely never turn him away, and there was Laure, the miller's third daughter, the one who'd grown up very unstifled, rather a tomboy, and also rather uninhibited. And Miss Ella, the seamstress, not really young but—according to Sanji—very knowledgeable, and who had always done what she wanted to do and nothing else.

Them, at least, but how? For Sanji to sneak about like some thief... Usopp shook his head, trying to clear it. None of that mattered yet. One thing at a time.

“Yeah, take it slow, my friend,” Ace's voice was encouraging, and Usopp realized he'd spoken his last thought aloud. “I'm sure Sanji wouldn't want you running yourself ragged.”

“You don't even know him,” Usopp snapped abruptly, a sudden surge of memories spilling over—Sanji close to tears with laughter as Usopp told him a story over dinner, Sanji dragging Usopp into the kitchen to make him haul and carry for him while he cooked them something, Sanji banging on his front door while it was still pitch-dark outside so they could get to the fishing hole by dawn—things that would not happen anymore, not soon.

“No. That's true,” Ace answered, sounding stiff and unhappy, and Usopp glowered at him. “But I hope I will. He freed me from Krieg, and unless he tells me to leave, I won't.”

Usopp didn't reply out loud, hoping to keep his mouth from going off on its own again. He just nodded, distracted. That might be good, might be nice. Wouldn't help with the hunger issues, Usopp knew, but at least Sanji might not be alone.

He gathered up what he needed to bring back with him, taking far too long to sort it all, then finally stared apprehensively at the tunnel out, chest tightening with fear, none of the adrenaline from last night remaining to force him out. What if they were there? What if they were still looking? Probably not after... what they'd done, but what if they were?

“Can't-go-into-the-forest disease,” he muttered, swallowing with an effort, and looking at Sanji, seeing in his mind's eye the aggravated eye-roll that routine often provoked, felt the phantom shove of a strong hand on his back. “Right.” He darted a last look at Ace. The imp was standing solemnly back by the hearth now. “Keep him warm. He gets cold when he's hungry. I'll be back when... back later.” He raised a hand in absent farewell, clenched his teeth, and headed up and out.

*

Ace crouched on his haunches, finished setting up the logs in the hearth, and started a fire, shrinking down to sit on the top log to look upward and see the narrow fissure where smoke escaped. He'd burn these clean whenever he was here, of course, but any smoke from a normal fire wouldn't choke up the room, either, which was a good thing for Sanji and Usopp. He stayed in the hearth a little while, sending his own flames over the logs to drive out impurities and moisture so that when he left the now-independantly burning fire, the smoke was almost nonexistant. The better not to send up any signs they were here. The movement of the air above and the tree cover should do the rest for dispersing what little smoke escaped.

The heat felt good, and would keep this room well-warmed for its unconscious resident.

Ace drifted to the table, settling on the edge, taking care not to burn it, and regarded his benefactor silently. Usopp had been right; Ace didn't know him. But he knew enough. Sanji was someone who'd pause in a burning building to help another, someone whose first thought on waking in pain was of someone else.

He'd recover quickly too, Ace was sure of that. Escaping, even with injury, was essentially sure survival for a vampire, provided there was somewhere to sleep, and something to eat upon waking. True vampires had it easier than half-breeds—killing something for blood was far less complicated than inducing dreams or orgasm—but Sanji had his friend to depend on.

“It's a fine thing, isn't it?” Ace wistfully asked the sleeping halfbreed. “He's a rare one. Don't lose him.” There was no reply, of course, just the even breathing of sleep.

Ace flared out to human-size, banking his fire completely inside, and began doing something productive. “Keep him warm,” Usopp had said, and the best way to do that, short of sitting on him constantly, would be to make Sanji a sleeping pallet closer to the hearth.

There was loose lumber and un-hewn tree branches in a pile on the opposite wall from the hearth, perhaps remains from Usopp's shelf-building. Between those, and a broken crate that Ace ripped apart, he fashioned a stable and pretty well level pallet, tying it all together with some of the vast tangles of twine and cord that were crammed under one of of lowest shelves. It was raised off the floor so the chill of the stone couldn't reach, and it was wider than the shoved-together crates. Moving Sanji was the hard part, mainly for Ace's own nerves, since Sanji didn't rouse even a little when Ace carefully lifted him, blankets and all. Ace had to dig deep to maintain the strength needed to keep large and solid while carrying such a load, but there wasn't far to move and Ace was determined. He set Sanji down as gently as possible, collapsing back only once he'd completely let go.

An added benefit, Ace realized, as he melted back to a small glow and retreated to the fire, was that Ace could keep watch over him him directly from here.

And so, he settled down to wait. For a long time, Ace remained there on guard, slipping into the mindless awareness of his surroundings, of Sanji's presence, the sound of his sleep, the embracing solidity of the earth around them, the comforting heat of the fire.

Some part of Ace knew he was clinging to this hearth like a child to a beloved blanket. The reassurance he drew from it was considerably more than he ought to, and he couldn't stay long away from the heat without feeling a compulsion to return that had nothing to do with hunger . Leftover unease from being in the box, perhaps. And not at all irrational, considering. No, not irrational. Weak, though.

So he emerged, stood tall and human-sized again, and walked the room's length and breadth instead. He gave in to curiosity, as good a distraction as any from the desire to hide. He explored the shelves, idly neatening as he went, though taking care not to shift anything far from its original place. He opened nothing, remembering Usopp's warning against explosive substances, though there were plenty of loose materials and transparent jars. There were animal teeth, dried toadstools, bundled roots and herbs, some of which Ace recognized as the ingredients to the kinds of poisons for coating weapons.

A jar of frogs' eggs, pickled in some kind of solution, made him grimace. Some time later, so did the bundle of pine boughs. He wiped his hands against his shorts, rather than touch those, and stepped back.

His eyes fell on the waterskin Usopp had left behind. There was something else Ace could do, he realized. Burns were not something he had ever personally experienced, but Whitebeard's company was vast and varied, as were the adventures they'd had and the injuries they'd incurred. Among them were most certainly burns, and the healers always said to keep the victims drinking water. The exposed wet flesh of burn injuries dried out the body.

Usopp perhaps didn't know—Ace certainly had only just recalled it—but even with Sanji's halfbreed resiliance, it could only help.

Ace found a clean mug, filled it, and returned to Sanji's makeshift bed. He slid an arm behind him and raised him up enough to let gravity help the water go down. One tiny mouthful at a time, backs of his fingers stroking over Sanji's throat to remind it to swallow, Ace eventually succeeded in getting the full mug into him.

Hours later, he felt the sun go down, the earth around them begin to cool under the twilight sky. Usopp would likely return soon.

Indeed, it wasn't another hour before he heard someone approaching down the tunnel. The nervous steps were very distinctive. Usopp entered with an overstuffed pack on his back and lugging two more bundles. Ace greeted him before moving back to the fire, now able to justify that by need, rather than a lack of mental fortitude. Sleep was imminent, though he resisted it to listen for a little longer.

“Why didn't I think of that?” came Usopp's surprised and unhappy murmur as he regarded the new bed, and Ace next heard the sounds of him unloading his burdens.

“I thought Zeff was gonna clobber me at first when I told him how you were doing,” Usopp said, and Ace realized he was speaking to his friend. “But he hugged me.” Usopp's tone was bewildered. “And he cried a little, Sanji, oh gods, it was horrible.” Usopp's voice wobbled. “But not as bad as you being dead. I bet you wouldn't believe me, but I think if you died he woulda given up.” A sound of throat-clearing, and Usopp went on, sounding marginally less like he might burst into tears, “He told me not to tell you, so I guess this doesn't count, but he's bad off as you, or worse, 'cause he's old... his leg... they had to cut it off, and he coughs so much now, the smoke got in him pretty bad I guess. But he knows you're safe and when I told him that it was like the sun came out in the room, you know. And he'll come through, or I'll never lie again.” There was silence for a while as Usopp set out fresh healing supplies. “Here now. Lemme change all these, shoulda been changed another time today already anyway.”

Ace listened to Usopp's pleased surprise at the extent of Sanji's improvement. That didn't surprise Ace at all, though it was somehow even more heartening to hear the naked relief in Usopp's exclamations. “Just like the time I got roasted by a dragon, you know,” Usopp was saying, “except I was all healed in an hour, of course.”

Ace thought that if Usopp was off on his tall tales again, he really must be reassured by what he saw. While Usopp changed all the bandages, Ace was further treated to a long and rambling tale about a three-headed troll Usopp had once met who was looking for its mother-stone but got stuck when it had to answer riddles and the three heads couldn't stop arguing. Usopp, naturally, helped it through the riddles and sent it home safely. “You always say the jokes are stupid,” Usopp's voice was low once he'd finished, “but you laugh anyway.”

Silence was the only answer to that, and then Ace heard Usopp's long sigh.

Usopp managed to spread himself a bedroll, after that, rather than sleeping at the table, and with that the routine of the next few days was set.

Ace watched during the day, made Sanji drink. Usopp returned each night to change bandages, give Sanji what bathing he could with warm water in a bucket and a few cloths. No tub, but he managed.

Sanji woke up just before sundown on the fourth day. He sat bolt upright on his shabby bed of planks and blankets, catapulting from his sleep like a startled animal, and taking a long, deep breath.

After all that time asleep, only a few bandages remained; his right palm was still covered, his right upper arm as well, and his eye.

Ace turned instantly at the sound, putting aside the little crucible he'd been melting metals for Usopp's sling bullet mold. Usopp had provided the materials at Ace's request, something to keep him occupied and out of the fire unless he really needed it.

“Hello there. Welcome back,” Ace said in a low voice, and Sanji looked at him, visible eye wide and slightly dazed-looking, the pupil huge and black from all his time asleep.

“You. You're...” Sanji stared around him, and Ace wasn't sure if he was quite seeing his real surroundings. He flinched back from the low fire in the hearth, and Ace moved to crouch in front of it, blocking much of it from his view.

“You're safe. This place is Usopp's, you're hidden. He took us here afterwards. You've been asleep.”

“...burned,” Sanji choked, his hand sliding up over his covered eye, “It burned... they burned me.”

“It's over now. Your Zeff is well, Usopp said, and knows you're safe.”

Sanji gasped a little, the tiniest bit of tension leaving him. He stayed still a few seconds, staring at nothing that Ace could see. Then he shuddered and curled over on himself, every breath he took sounding strained. “Nngh...” he swallowed again, “I need...” He shook his head, swallowed loud and wet. He raised his head, back hunched, and his gaze passed over Ace again with a vague, confused flare of predatory interest. He began to pant, and Ace knew the hunger was on him.

His mind had not quite caught up to his body yet, Ace suspected, Sanji was acting mostly on instinct and urge and the pain from just before he'd first gone to sleep. Thank the gods it was close to dark and Usopp would soon return. Sanji swallowed again, let out a low whine, hungry and pained at once. Then he shook his head and ducked down again, shoulders shaking, sounds of grief lurching into the silence.

Ace didn't dare touch him like this. He was too hungry for Ace to risk him latching on by reflex and wasting what energy he had on trying to feed on a faerie. And, for all Ace's well-meaning guilt, he had no reason to think Sanji would accept any comfort from him anyway.

So he stayed where he was and waited with him.

It wasn't much longer, to Ace's vast relief, before Sanji's body turned tense and alert, his head jerking up. He stilled utterly, listening. Then he shoved the covers away and got clumsily upright, just as Ace heard the first familiar footsteps from the tunnel. Usopp came through the doorway and Ace blew out a breath of relief. He made himself small, retreating out of sight. He somehow doubted Usopp would want him watching what was going to come next.

*

Usopp noticed movement a bare moment before he was pinned to the wall, arched rather uncomfortably back over his pack. “Sanji,” he said, shifting awkwardly to move his arms so he could get free of his pack, letting it fall. Sanji pressed against him, head down and face against his neck. Usopp could feel Sanji's bandage against his skin, and the warm, damp rush of Sanji's heavy breathing.

Sanji clung to the front of his overalls, and Usopp realized, when nothing further happened, that the harsh breathing was as much sobbing as anything else, and he brought his arms up to hold onto him, feeling singularly awkward and ineffectual. Sanji was wearing an old shirt and worn-out drawstring trousers and nothing more. He was barefoot, and his hands were cold through Usopp's shirt.

It was hard to remember that Sanji didn't have even the four days of distance that Usopp had from the events of that night. “Zeff is safe, and Patty and Carne and Milly and everyone, they all got out.” Did Sanji remember any of what Usopp had told him before he'd gone to sleep? “It's alright,” he said, and it wasn't, really, though Sanji didn't know yet that it could have been so much worse. “One thing at a time,” he spoke softly, “c'mon. It's alright.”

Sanji's voice bled into his next breath, a moan that sounded needy and hurting at once. He swallowed, then pushed closer, his mouth coming close against Usopp's neck. Usopp knew what came next, was frankly thankful, because while he'd long ago discovered that boys were as fine as girls, and that helping Sanji like this was no hardship at all, he hadn't had his adolescent hair-trigger for a couple of years, now.

He felt a light touch of tongue as Sanji wetted his lips, the contact sent the first sparks of hot, induced lust into Usopp's body. He exhaled a little, with relief and growing arousal, felt heat start gathering, in his face, his cock, and Sanji made a little sound in his throat, sensing Usopp's state as easily Usopp would catch the scent of fresh-baked bread, but did nothing more.

Usopp unknotted the tie of his cloak with one hand while he raised the other to the back of Sanji's head, rubbing over the back of his neck. He wasn't cold everywhere, which meant he hadn't starved in that deep sleep—and anyway, the day before the soldiers had come, Usopp had seen the appreciative, sated expression Millicent had followed Sanji with when Usopp had come by for dinner—but this was not much different from the sluggish, fixated, barely-verbal state of that first time, when Sanji _had_ nearly starved. Except he was not sluggish, but somehow hesitant, which Sanji had never been. He was not shy, not ashamed of sex at all.

Only, now, Sanji was keeping his head down, was so silent. He'd flung himself on Usopp and then... nothing.

Shifting against Sanji's skinny shape, Usopp pushed himself off the wall. “You'll be too cold like this, come on,” he said inanely, and used one hand to shove at the stone, starting them moving towards the pile of blankets on the pallet in front of the hearth.

Unresisting, Sanji let himself be moved, but then stayed stubbornly standing as Usopp untied his belt sash and unlatched his overalls. He kicked his boots off, the cave floor rough and frigid under his feet. He got Sanji to sit down finally by sitting down himself, and got on with pulling his shirt over his head.

Sanji shifted, made a reluctant sound. But his cold hands landed high on Usopp's chest, the contrast with the warm air and Usopp's own rapidly heating body making him exhale in mild surprise. Sanji watched and waited while Usopp made ungainly progress shedding his overalls the rest of the way, hands sliding slowly, warming up as they moved down Usopp's front, and Usopp finally got the damned garment off and away. Then Sanji went motionless, shaking slightly, face strained and distraught.

Normally, Sanji went straight for the neck, just like he'd started to against the wall, and Usopp didn't know if that was an inborn instinct from his non-human half or just a preferred one of many learned human lovemaking starting points. He would make contact with tongue instead of teeth, a sort of magical kiss that would never feature in a children's tale, provoking such a response in the human body as to make his partner stop caring about anything but pure carnal lust.

Now he was holding back. Usopp hadn't forgotten the sight of him when he'd bitten his own mouth, and alarm rose as Sanji sucked his lower lip in, blunt fangs digging down again. Not enough to bite into the skin this time, but it made Usopp's heart clench in sickened worry.

“Stop!” Usopp gasped. He reached out, yanking Sanji close with a hand behind his head, “Stop that, _now_. Your stupid teeth aren't sharp enough. You can't even scare _me_ with them,” he said fiercely, “so what does that tell you?”

Sanji made a sound at that, like a sobbing laugh, and relaxed all of a sudden, snaking his arms around Usopp's middle, and his mouth landed on Usopp's neck again, firmly now, opening and Usopp felt the faint scrape of those stupid fangs, blunt and familiar. Sanji took a breath, hands flattening over Usopp's back, pressing them together. Then the warm swipe of his wet tongue was an exquisitely distinct sensation, the pressure and the heat and the velvet roughness arresting every single scrap of awareness in Usopp's body, just like what would be coming next.

Heat rolled up and over Usopp's entire body, thick and tingling and almost instantaneous, like the wash of hot air from an opened stove. Usopp's slow-burn arousal transmuted into towering lust. His whole being wanted contact, hands, mouth, bare skin, and all of it _now_.

He heard Sanji's fast breathing, his little noise of pained relief as all Usopp's focus narrowed to stripping Sanji of what little he wore. He was pale underneath, lean—too lean, some part of Usopp's mind thought—warm, and _right there_. Usopp gathered him close again, pulled him between his legs, putting them chest to chest so he could wrap both arms tight around him. Sanji clung in return, almost painfully, but that suited Usopp just fine as he tightened one arm around his waist and explored avidly with the other. He mouthed along Sanji's shoulder, tasting the salt and spice and faint metallic flavour of his skin while he felt over the planes of his back, tracing sharp shoulder blades and the too-prominent line of his spine.

Even heated as Usopp had become, the awareness of Sanji as somehow less than he ought to be filtered through. He was thinner than he should be, less solid, with sharper edges and a too-tight grip around Usopp's middle. The scrape of the bandage still over his face and the ones on his hand and arm were harsh spots, rough contrasts to the smooth and inviting skin everywhere else.

But, gods, he felt so wonderful. He always did.

“Nnh,” Sanji's voice didn't form a real word, but the need was audible. “More,” Sanji managed next, the word muffled against Usopp's neck, “I...”

“Yeah,” Usopp responded, meaninglessly, and slid a hand between them, his hips moving in automatic response to the change in friction while he grasped at Sanji's cock. Half hard, silky-soft in his hand. “Gods, 's nice, y'know, 's perfect,” Usopp babbled, his baser self thrilled with the hardening length in his hand, his higher faculties, as usual, trying to maintain his speech patterns despite the lack of coherence. He was used to the sound of his own voice, so he tuned it out; far more urgent to track were the hands kneading at his back, the warm body pressed against his, moving slightly in response to his grip.

Sanji's hands felt hot now, everything was warm and comfortable, the air itself like a blanket surrounding them, Sanji's mouth on his neck, shoulder, jaw, sucking softly every now and then between quiet pants.

Precome spread over Usopp's fingers as he slid them across the head of Sanji's cock, and he reached his other arm down, pressing over the small of his back while he started to stroke him, eyes closed to feel every little twitch of motion Sanji replied with, his own body alight with the sensation of another moving so easily in his hands, the awareness of what he was doing echoing through the rushing lust, adding to it. His speech had failed at some point, murmurs of sound melting into a low hum in his throat, instinctive encouragement to the one in his arms, and a deep moan from Sanji penetrated his fog of arousal, plain and simple contentment bubbling up under all the heat.

Quick gasps were next, and a sudden full body twitch, then slippery warmth covered his hand while Sanji's fingers dug into Usopp's upper back. The pressure points sent tingling trails over his skin, and Usopp groaned happily, pulling his hand the tiny distance between them to his own cock, gaining warm, sliding friction. He heard Sanji's voice again against his neck, shades of his familiar eager noises, while Usopp shot up and up and _through_ , and as he came over his hand, the lust blew outwards like one of his fireworks, drawn from him in that altogether unique sensation of Sanji feeding, that strange, startling feeling when another someone brushed against Usopp's being, skimming off the energy he'd just expended in orgasm.

This was always, without exception, exhausting, and Usopp struggled to resist the sleepiness that starting dragging at him almost immediately after Sanji had fed, but found his eyelids drooping even as they slid apart. Sanji's naked body was far less pale now, his face even in an approximation of his normal self at a time like this, gratitude half-hidden behind some amusement. His eyes were still strained, his mouth too tight, and far too much open softness was in his expression that Usopp knew Sanji would always rather hide, but it was a vast relief to see anyway.

“Better?” Usopp managed at least, and Sanji nodded, the amusement becoming stronger along with the fondness. He helped Usopp lie down, hands still warm, and strong again. The blankets, though scratchy and musty and full of the sharp smell of the burn ointment, seemed completely wonderful and inviting just now. “Good... 's good...”

He felt Sanji's hand, warm and heavy on his shoulder, as he sank into sleep.

*

Ace waited a little while before venturing out of the hearth. He hadn't really meant to watch, but when they'd started taking their clothes off he'd elected to pay attention, regulating the heat in the air for them. This place could be warmed with fire, but naked human—even mostly human—skin would still feel the chill from the earth around them that could not be kept fully at bay by a mere hearth fire.

Sanji just sat, pulling on his shirt again and tugging a blanket up over his friend, who was now snoring away.

Finally, Ace showed his face. Or his glow, anyway, floating forward until Sanji noticed his presence. He moved past the makeshift bed and flared out large, standing to lean against the end of the nearest set of the shelves. Sanji followed his every move, expression darkening by the second. Guilt surged in Ace, what had eased just a little during his vigil these few days re-emerging with a vengeance, and Ace had to consciously stifle his reaction, work to keep his expression neutral and still. This boy needed none of Ace's own pain piling on his own, which had to still be fresh as when he'd passed out.

“Thank you for freeing me,” Ace said first of all. Sanji hadn't been in much of a state to be thanked earlier, but Ace wouldn't put that off any longer.

The one shadowed eye sharpened like an icicle, fury spreading over Sanji's face.

“They did that to you,” Sanji pointed shakily at him, spoke with the tone of someone just short of flying into a rage, and Ace caught himself before he reached behind himself to touch the cold mark, realizing that he'd misinterpreted the rising anger he'd seen.

“And I did that to you,” Ace returned, gesturing at the wrapping still covering his face, reminding him, needing to; Krieg's mark would fade, one way or another, but Ace's crime could not be undone.

Sanji touched the bandage with a distracted frown, should his head. “He got out because of you,” Sanji said, “that shitty old man and everyone else. You were—you were starving, they starved you,” Sanji's expression at that word turned distant with some horror that Ace felt had nothing to do with the recent events, “and you still...” Sanji made a vague gathering motion.

“They used me to destroy that place,” Ace said angrily, and realized abruptly that he was only fooling himself to imagine he'd controlled his emotions. Fire could be like that. Usually it was the energy to grin and taunt, but it fuelled guilt to the same extent.

“The. Baratie,” Sanji snapped in harsh correction of Ace's general reference. “It... was... our inn. And Krieg destroyed it. But it doesn't matter.” His jaw set mulishly. “That old bastard will just keep doing what he wants, he'll build a new one, he's still alive, and if you think Krieg is gonna stop him...” Sanji snorted, defiant, but, Ace could see, honestly believing what he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The reply was instant, final, implacable. And, a moment after he said it, it seemed to surprise Sanji, ease some of the pain tightening his body.

Ace discovered he too felt just the slightest bit less heartsick, almost against his will, as though, for both of them to believe that statement could assuage the other, they each had to take solace in it as well.

“And you?” Ace asked.

“Me, what?”

“Where are you going to go now?” Ace would follow, unless Sanji explicitly told him to leave.

The stare Ace got in return for that apparently ridiculous query was one of complete incredulity. “Nowhere. I'm staying here. Fuck Krieg and his thugs. This is my town. And they're going to know it.” Sanji cast an apologetic look down towards his sleeping friend, and then his voice hardened to cold self-assurance. “They want a vampire, I'll give them one.”

Well. Ace nodded slowly. Alright then.


End file.
